


Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

by AliceBee



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Grief, Imagined Oral Non-con, Longing, Loss, M/M, Memory, Pining, Snowing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceBee/pseuds/AliceBee
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Javert and Rivette deal with their own very different losses
Relationships: Javert & Rivette, javert/valjean
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Javert looked up from his lamp-lit desk. A cruel gust of wind had spattered sleet loudly against the window panes of the Prefecture. Alone in the office, Javert reflected for a moment. It was harsh, biting weather for Christmas Eve, but it would at least keep the drunkards off the streets and out of trouble.

The fire had died down a little and a chill had settled into the air. Javert stood and stretched, his back creaking. He made his way over to the fire, to stoke it back into life. Stirring the embers into full flame, his mind turned back to the events of last New Year. It was hard to believe that a full twelve months had nearly passed.

Since his unmasking of Valjean, Javert’s life had changed forever. He had everything he’d ever wanted. Position, status, respect. Vindication. Paris had always been his goal. Once established in such a city, all things were possible. Connections had begun to open up to him, his name was known and he was determined it would be held in the highest regard by the all the right people. On the streets and in the back alleys, his name was also known and it had come to be feared.

And yet… and yet…

He often found himself oddly distracted, his triumph somehow haunted by some nagging, unseen thing. With the anniversary of Valjean’s confession just around the corner, Javert found that he was thinking of him more and more. He had no idea why this should be and it irked him. 

It had been the longest pursuit of his career by some degree and his biggest professional victory. It had lead to promotion and Paris where all his long-held ambitions were to be realised. With Valjean back in Toulon where he belonged, breaking rocks and in chains, that should have been an end to it. 

He had tried many times to shake this strange ill-discipline, but nothing seemed to shift the mood once it had taken hold.

Apart from one thing.

Javert kept a copy of the court transcript in his desk. He took out the small brass key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the drawer. It was tucked away, under several other documents, in a plain cover. An old handkerchief was neatly folded on top of it. He swallowed as he took both the file and the cloth from their hiding place.

The re-kindled fire and his ardour had chased away the chill from the room. As he opened the file and turned past the first few pages, he moistened his lips, anticipation running in his blood.

Ten years had come down to those few moments in the courthouse. Javert’s bold gambit had been all or nothing, but it had paid off in the most glorious way. 

Reading those words back, Javert’s cock stirred as it had on that day, when Valjean had sat down opposite him, distress etched on his face. It had been nearly unbearable, waiting, watching. Every flicker of emotion across the man’s eyes had caused a twinge of longing in Javert’s groin.

Javert undid his buttons and slid his hand onto his stiffening cock, panting and pulling as he began to read.

Valjean's roar of, “ _Enough_!” had reverberated through the courtroom and it echoed through Javert's mind now. It was the roar of a wild animal, cornered and wounded. 

He pored over it, each and every word of Valjean’s tormented confession was there, before his eyes, his _aide-mémoire_ , as the visions flared and fired his lust from red hot to white heat.

_“Will you surrender yourself to the custody of Inspector Javert?”_

Javert’s breath quickened as he read the words, the memory blazing.

_“Willingly.”_

Javert moaned loudly, his cock aching in his fist as he stroked it harder. It was all he had ever wanted, his whole world, collapsed into that one, single word. The sound of it had burned through Javert’s body like fire and ice. 

As he read his own order, when he had called for the cuffs, he clenched his fist tight around his cock and pulled long and slow. The look on Valjean’s face as he was shackled… It was branded into Javert’s mind. In his tear-filled anguish, his eyes never once left Javert’s and their eyes had remained locked on each other as the cold, iron cuffs were closed shut around his wrists.

Imagination took over from memory. He was now picturing Madeleine pushed down onto his knees, where he would be made to take Javert in front of the court. Javert could see – he could _feel –_ the Mayor of Montreuil knelt between his thighs. His shackled hands shakily unbuttoning Javert’s cock. All those dull, trusting, stuffed-shirts shocked to the core as the pious mayor dipped his head and took Javert into his deceitful mouth. Javert would show them. He would show them all what a willing surrender truly looked like.

Javert, eyes closed and, lost in his fantasy, gave a small cry as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of his cock, imagining it was Madeleine’s tongue keening in a forced caress. As he dragged his hand down, it was Madeleine’s mouth taking him whole, his shaft slick not with the sweat from his own palm, but with the saliva of his captive. His own cries of pleasure meshed in his mind with Madeleine’s cries of distress, the eyes of the court transfixed upon them as he fucked him harder.

Javert’s free hand curled into a fist as he imagined taking hold of Madeleine’s hair, those long, tangled strands dragged away from his face so that Javert could hold his mouth to more urgent account. Javert wanted him to choke on his cock, for all the lies, for all the deceit, for all those months he had had to take orders from the lips of this filthy, degenerate convict.

Javert was pulling harder and faster, panting and gasping as he moved closer to his climax. In his mind, he had Madeleine’s head yanked back, forcing him to look him in the eye. The anguish on his face, the tears brimming in his eyes, they were not conjured from his imagination, but from his memory.

Javert bucked his hips into his hand and spilled himself. Into Madeleine’s subjugated mouth in his mind, into his old handkerchief in reality.

Breathing hard as his body thrummed with the last sparks of orgasm, Javert leaned back into his chair as it began to fade. A relaxation like no other eased through his body and sank into his bones. He allowed the luxury of that sensation to cocoon him for a minute or two, but he was not a man to sit idle for long. He would need to tidy himself, he had caught his spend, but his clothes were in some disarray. 

Javert emerged from his side-room some moments later, neatened, sated and content that he would at least be settled for some little while now. Then he heard the front door of the Prefecture bang open, the howl of the wind and the sound of someone stamping snow from their boots.

Javert sat back at his desk, looking up as Rivette entered. His shift had ended some hours ago and as Javert understood it, he had been heading out of Paris to visit his mother for Christmas Day.

“Rivette?”

“Sir.”

He put his bags down by his desk and stood to attention before Javert. His greatcoat was covered with a smattering of snow and his face was pink with the cold. There were snowflakes caught in his moustache. They quickly melted, fading to nothing in the warmth of the office.

“You are meant to be off duty.”

“Yes, sir. I was unable to make it out of the city. The snow is far worse to the north. The wind has made it drift and the roads are impassable.”

“A disappointment for you, I am sure.”

“Yes, sir, and for my mother too.”

“Indeed.”

“Um… sir? May I?” Rivette was gesturing to his bags.

Javert frowned. “Of course.”

His lieutenant turned from him and rummaged in one of his bags. He brought out a bottle of brandy and gave it to Javert, who stood to take it from him awkwardly.

Javert held the bottle as though someone had just placed a new born babe in his hands. Uncomfortable and careful, he held its body cupped in one hand, its neck supported gently with his other.

“For me?” Javert asked, uncertainly.

“I should like you to have it.”

“It… is not appropriate.” Javert felt the strangest sensation, a worming, burrowing self-consciousness he was most unused to. “Accepting a gift from a subordinate is… not appropriate.”

“Then, if I may make a suggestion… Think of it this way. I shall not be able to share this with my brothers. Or with my father this year–”

Rivette fell silent, his throat working at some unspoken emotion. Javert was beginning to feel something akin to alarm. He was relieved, therefore, to see that Rivette was able to bring himself under control.

“I’m sorry, sir. His passing is still fresh.”

Javert made a sound as he had no words to offer.

“Anyway,” Rivette continued. “It had become something of a tradition, since I had moved away, that at Christmas, I would bring my father the best bottle of brandy I could afford.”

“A fine gesture, I am sure.”

“Thank you, sir. This first year without him, I was to have toasted his memory with my brothers.”

Javert gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“Now, sadly, I cannot and…” Rivette paused. “And I should not like to drink it alone.”

The frown deepened on Javert’s brow. “You should like to drink it with me?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, if you would do me that honour.”

Javert set the bottle down on his desk.

“I don’t know what to say, Rivette. I… I don’t know what to say.”

There was silence between them; the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind.

“Sir, shall I… shall I get some glasses?”

Javert looked up at Rivette and nodded.

Brandy glasses were not to be found at the Prefecture, certainly not since Javert had taken over, but Rivette had found some substitutes which would suffice.

Javert opened the bottle and poured them each a measure. They lifted their glasses.

“To family,” said Rivette.

“To your family,” Javert replied.

They both took a long sip of the warming spirit. 

“Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas, Rivette.”


End file.
